


The One With No Orgasms

by asexualizing (Specialcookies)



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, One Shot, Post-Season/Series Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 10:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14306301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Specialcookies/pseuds/asexualizing
Summary: “Well maybe I’ve ended up with the wrong Geller, then.” Rachel laughs, sour. Sour like the joke she had just made, sour like every new joke Chandler makes about every new guy Monica knows he finds attractive. They’re well into their fourth glass of wine, Rachel’s head hanging slightly to the side and her hair falling with it. Monica laughs along with her.





	The One With No Orgasms

**Author's Note:**

> idk idk idk idk idk i had two hours of sleep
> 
> cool
> 
> i also stole "manage a moi" from grace and frankie

“And he has the nerve to keep insisting  _ I’m  _ in the wrong,” Rachel finishes her long rant that included uncanny impressions of Ross and high-pitched complaints. Monica swallows the wine she drank at the worst possible moment of the conversation.

“And I keep insisting that Ross can be  _ such  _ an idiot, but that had never gotten me far,” she replies with slightly less ardor than Rachel.

“Well maybe I’ve ended up with the wrong Geller, then.” Rachel laughs, sour. Sour like the joke she had just made, sour like every new joke Chandler makes about every new guy Monica knows he finds attractive. They’re well into their fourth glass of wine, Rachel’s head hanging slightly to the side and her hair falling with it. Monica laughs along with her.

“You know he loves you,” she says when they’ve both had their fair share of pretence, enough to last them through another minute of conversation. Monica doesn’t care to mean her words, she just needs to say them, on behalf of her brother and his relationship with her best friend.

Rachel sighs, reaching for overdramatic but landing at exhausted. “I know,” she answers simply. “But being recognized as right once in a while does appeal to me.”

She had stopped talking about her own love for Ross a long time ago. The ‘sometimes I wonder if that is enough’s and 'i’m not sure i care's are always an implication that Monica simply knows is there as well as she knows the answer to it. Nobody expected Rachel and Ross to ever stop fighting, if they are being honest here, but at some point of their lives Monica truly believed that they have each found the future where it is possible for them to be as close to happy as can be.

Rachel, head leaning on her arm now, looks at her as if she wants to ask the single question that has not been brought up until now: how’s Chandler doing?

It was not brought up the last time they have met, a few months before now, nor a few months before that. Monica does not remember the last time they have talked about her life in the suburbs. Meeting Rachel at a pub in the middle of New York City means she gets to live an alternate reality where her dreamlife never came true. She’s not sure what Rachel gets out of it besides being told that she is always right and Ross is always wrong, but it’s too fragile of a situation to check. Phoebe had gone off to be a proud soccer mommy who has no time to see her oldest friends between the various extracurricular activities her kids participate in, but Monica holds on to Rachel like she might turn back time if only they sit here long enough -- the pub morphing into Central Perk, the wooden stools into a green couch, Rachel’s summer blouse and wide pants into a white, wet wedding dress -- and Rachel holds onto Monica as if she doesn’t have anything else to grasp. 

They did the ceremony of kid pictures right when they set down so they will have the energy it requires, and Monica is out of words. This is usually where Rachel clears her throat and says she’s got to go soon.

Sometimes, Monica wants to outright tell her:  _ I wonder if he’ll ever tell me.  _ But she refrains. Because then she’ll need to add: _ I wonder if I’ll ever tell him. _

She loves Chandler. And Chandler loves her. And Chandler will never let himself end up like his parents and Monica will never let herself believe someone else could ever handle her and they don’t have honesty but they have the knowledge that together they survive. If something more than surviving is desired, Chandler doesn’t tell her, and she doesn’t ask. The kids think they’re happy and that’s what matters.

Rachel clears her throat. But what comes after that is not what Monica prepared for when she drowned the rest of her wine.

“You know,” Rachel says and twirls her glass. “I can not remember the last time I had good sex.”

Monica nearly sprays her with stains. She barely swallows and coughs out a lung. “Oh, wow,” she manages.

Rachel laughs, sounds drunker than she should. “It's only sex, Mon. We used to talk about that all the time.”

“Yeah, but not -- “ she doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, doesn't know what she’s resisting even, so she coughs out another lung.

Rachel groans. “I miss it!” She’s too loud for a sunny Saturday afternoon. Monica glances around them, but nobody pays them any heed. She gives Monica a once over, then leans closer, like she’s about to share a secret that is too private even for their own kind of friendship. “When was the last time you had more than one orgasm?” 

Monica can feel herself blushing bright red.

“Or even a single orgasm?” Rachel lowers her voice even more. Her breath is ghosting over Monica’s skin and the honest answer would be: so long ago that I’m slightly turned on right now.

But Rachel and she doesn’t have honesty as well. They have that quiet, simmering energy between them that existed ever since the day Rachel stepped back into Monica’s life, and had never amounted to anything more than casual touches.

Like now, when Rachel lifts a hand to brush Monica’s hair back behind her ear. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a proper girl’s talk.”

Monica counts back from ten.

(One…  _ I almost kissed you during college just to see what happens… _ Two…  _ I almost kissed you when you moved in just because I felt I should and didn’t know why… _ Three…  _ I almost kissed you when Ross was an idiot because you pouted and I felt like making it go away…  _ Four…  _ I almost kissed you when Chandler moved in because I was scared… _ Five…  _ I almost kissed you when we found out you’re pregnant because I thought someone should…  _ Six…)

“I don’t remember,” she ends up admitting. It’s the wine that’s gone up to her head, and the sweet smell of Rachel’s perfume that’s too visceral, and Rachel’s methods of persuading people (make them only see her).

“More than one?”

“Even one.”

“Oh,  _ Monica _ ,” Rachel’s scandalous voice is undermined by her beaming at Monica. It’s a hard job keeping her walls down and not lashing out, especially since they’re so close to bringing Chandler up. She rolls her eyes, mechanic.

“To be honest with you…” Rachel turns semi-serious again, or at least tries to, “it wasn’t Ross who gave me my single one.” She winks.

She is still very very close; Monica can still feel her breath and smell her perfume and if she leans just a tinsy bit closer herself she could probably kiss her. But that would be worse than any other time she might have done that.

Monica raises a single eyebrow, meticulously done and colored in. She knows she’s supposed to play a game of over-reactions, but there is a limit to what she can pretend to be doing. Being shocked is too much. So, skeptical, careful to keep her tone leveled,she asks: “You’re not cheating on my brother, are you?”

“Oh, you  _ know _ I would  _ never  _ give him the satisfaction.” 

She would have laughed if it wasn’t the only real thing Rachel have said in the past year.But then, it doesn’t matter anymore because Monica has to keep herself from sighing too loudly when Rachel bites down on her bottom lip, as if she’s about to hand out the sweetest treat.

They are both, Monica thinks, drunker than they’ve thought. Nothing feels real. Nothing feels tangible.

Maybe it wasn’t four glasses of wine. Monica might have been too distracted to count.

“I don’t need men to pleasure me,” Rachel whispers, breathes out, maybe she didn’t even speak it, maybe Monica is hallucinating.

She has to keep talking. Because if she won't --

(... _ I almost kissed you when you stole my baby girl’s name because I thought I’d give you everything…  _ Seven…  _ And when Chandler and I moved to the suburbs I almost kissed you because I thought we’ll never see each other again so what the hell…  _ Eight…)

“You hear stories but you never think your closest friend…”

She swallows the bile rising in her throat.

Rachel hits her shoulder playfully. “I’m not talking about going gay.” She leans back in her chair, finally giving Monica the space she needs to gather herself and stop this conversation before she has to say:  _ I wonder if Chandler will ever tell me.  _ “I’m talking about a  _ ménage à moi.” _

Rachel looks like she had dropped the final argument against Ross. Except Monica is not the Geller who stays speechless.

“There is no way that that is better than having actual sex.”

“There is no way that you haven’t tried it if it’s  _ truly  _ been that long,” Rachel counters, hands folded on her chest.

“I swear.”

Truth is, she haven’t. She doesn't trust herself to not think of what she’s not supposed to think about if she did. Chandler might do whatever gives  _ him _ his peace of mind, and Rachel would have scolded Monica if nothing else then for not getting even with him, but Monica can’t.

(... _ I dreamed about you once and couldn’t sleep for 8 days after that, I cleaned the house so much that Chandler thought I officially lost the battle with my sanity…) _

“Monica Geller.” Rachel sounds far too grave to be saying Monica’s name that way. “What kind of life are you leading?”

“Apparently not as exciting as I thought when I did the laundry for the third time the other day.”

If one of them were to give up, maybe something would have happened. Monica ponders that question often. But they’re both far too stubborn to let the other think one of them is  _ that _ vulnerable.

“Girls need to have fun, Mon.”

“Is that what they teach you in that new age feminism classes you’re going to?”

“I’ve stopped going to those ages ago. It’s what  _ I  _ taught  _ myself _ .”

“In more than one way, I assume.”

No, Monica would never admit to Rachel that she is, right now -- because it was inevitable and she can not stop it and that is why they never talk about anything real when they meet -- thinking about the various ways in which Rachel could have taught that to herself. Nor would she admit that her knowledge of any sexual act that does not involve men comes from that one time she watched Chandler’s ridiculous lesbian porn. But she knows Rachel is also going to rise up to the challenge.

“There’s a store right 'round the corner, you know.”

“You need to stock up?”

“I thought I’ll get you a gift.”

“Why do you care so much about my sex life?”

“You used to complain I didn’t care  _ enough _ about your sex life. Come on, Mon.”

Rachel taps her fingers on the table as if she had won, smirking in that way which is reserved for her best performances. Monica takes a deep breath, as deep as she can, lets it out as slowly as she can. Rachel probably thinks she’s upset for losing. “Ssso?” she drawls.

(Nine…  _ It took me so long to realise I want you…) _

Monica’s heart is beating so fast, climbing up her throat, she thinks Chandler would probably hate her if she told him before he told her but he can’t even tell himself.

“You seen to be thrilled by the possibility of giving me an orgasm.”

She holds Rachel’s gaze as if her insides aren’t burning. If there’s one thing Monica’s good at, it’s pretending that her insides aren’t burning.

Rachel, on the other hand, falters. Monica can see it in her jaw, in the way she suddenly fixes her blouse, in the twitch of her eye.

She clears her throat. Checks her watch.

“I should be going soon.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know.”

(Ten: _I’ve heard them say that kissing girls doesn’t count and that when you want something all you have to do is ask and I’ve nearly kissed you all my life and I don’t think that I can stop nearly kissing you so please go please go please go please go and Chandler will hate me if I tell him before he tells me and right now my insides are burning and I don’t think that I can stop nearly kissing you so please go please go please go I have been loving you I have been wanting you I have been dreaming too much about you and I don’t think that I can stop nearly kissing you so please go please go please go_ _please…_ )

“Rachel?”

(... _ go please go please go please...) _

“Huh.”

  
( _...don’t.) _


End file.
